Onwards
by the mediocre writer
Summary: From past to present memories, this story takes a closer look at Orochimaru and how from a degraded child he came to be evil personified.
1. Memory One

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Naruto.

A/N: I am not sure how long I am going to go with this to be honest. This is actually the first time I am writing something like this and therefore updates will be irregular, but this is a challenge for me and I do love a getting out of my comfort zone from time to time. This 'story' will not be told in chronological order. _Onwards_ will focus more on flashes of memory, desire, and what perhaps could be classified as Orochimaru's dreams. These snippets will be very short most of the time unless inspiration strikes. You see Orochimaru fascinates me. When asked if Orochimaru had any goodness left in him, Kishimoto claimed that Orochimaru was 'truly evil', one of those 'hopelessly evil characters' that he created with his vast imagination. I wonder if that is true? I would like to delve into the mind of this Orochimaru and see what I can dig up. A challenge. Yes, most definitely a challenge.

**Memory One**

Snakes were better than squirrels, but that did not stop the Senju from killing his father. Never mind if Zukia was insane, if he beat his mother, a ugly and weak woman, because as far as he could tell she deserved it. Hiki beat him, her unwanted, pasty child, so someone should beat her. It was justice. No, it was more than justice - it was balance.

Every cause had its effect, and every effect was birthed from a cause. Orochimaru wondered as he looked from behind the couch, as his father beat his mother Hikki, what was his cause. What would be his effect?


	2. Memory Two

**Memory Two**

After his mother was murdered by his father and right before his father was assassinated there was a puppy. A small, brown furry thing that snooped around their house on the edge of town.

Winter was coming, and the puppy was all alone. It was skinny and sickly and beneath everyone's notice. No one wanted the brown clump of fur, no one cared, but he did. Orochimaru was sure he was the only one who noticed the pathetic creature below everyone's notice.

As a young child, he noticed. He heard its whimper, its cries as it walked down the street, and something in him...something was giving him a strange feeling. It was almost like the duty his father spoke about - the duty to become strong, to prove the almost nonexistent clan worthy just as the man whom he called father had done all his life. But he knew what duty was. This feeling was not duty, it was deeper, foreigner, and unsettling.

He tried to focus his attention elsewhere as winter came closer, as the days shortened, but the puppy lived and came by his house every few days.

Why didn't it just die? Was that not better? The feeling grew within him and sat heavily in his belly.

A few weeks later, the puppy came again and Orochimaru held out food in his hand. The puppy's tail wagged and it barked sharply, happily. Taking the small creature in his hands, he walked to a nearby bridge and stood near the railing. He was shorter, could not reach over the edge, and the puppy squirmed in his hands.

"Why do you live?" he asked the puppy who barked in reply. His father's face entered his mind. Useless the face whispered. Worthless. What was happiness but the passing of chemicals in the brain.

Moving the puppy away from his body, Orochimaru frowned. "You can offer nothing."

With the next bark Orochimaru threw the puppy with all the force he had over the side of the bridge and into the river. He heard its screams, its whimpers one last time before there was nothing more the sound of water flowing on rocks.

And as always, he was the only one who noticed.

The only one who cared.


	3. Memory Three

**Memory Three **

The silence was quickening. His heart was a steady beat in his chest, a small pounding noise against his chest, quite similar to the blue chipped fan above as it slowly moved against the stale air.

The girl was no more than three yet she was perfect.

He would wait. Her parents were up. Their laughter reached his ears from across the street from their open windows. He could easily kill them, but for what purpose? He had no need for their blood or flesh. No, he would wait. Waiting was easy, and the prey in the end would come to you.

No energy would be wasted.

Maybe in time the parents would conceive another child, another babe with the same blood in its veins as the little girl had running through hers. A slow smile spread on his face and his fingers started to itch. He imagined them running across her small face, taking her blood, bottling her up in small vials to be stored and play with.

Experiments were never a hundred percent. He would need another child one day.

Yes, the parents he would keep.


End file.
